dirty truth

Never the words I wold have imagined myself using to describe Christmas time.

Short. Sensitive. Hurting.

Never the words I would have imagined my husband using to describe us this time of year.

Everyday is just hard. No other way to describe it. The ache for her is palpable. The memories of our last year with her. Such a short time we knew she had cancer.. This time of year brings it all back. The family pictures we took.. . Her face swollen with steroids. . A trip to Disneyland. . Presents that barely got played with..

We used to love Disneyland this time of year. Something we planned and saved for.. I wonder if we will ever go again.

And now. A vast empty.

How can it hurt this much? How are we supposed to survive this? I don’t want to do it all over again. But I am. We are. Day after day.

Its not fair. Why my daughter? I hate this part of it. The searing and bitter jealousy. I look at pictures on my parents wall. Of my nieces and nephews that got to grow up.

Why not Jennifer? Why why why why?

Her first Christmas morning with her Daddy..

And her last Christmas morning with her Daddy..

I hate this dirty truth. I look at pictures every once in awhile and imagine it wasn’t me. What if it was one of those kids that was frozen in time. I look on that wall at cousins and I wonder what if it hadn’t been mine..

I imagine me getting to post pictures of my daughter still. . She would be 8. Probably in some Nutcracker performance. ..

Why do I think these thoughts? How did I become this person that thinks these humiliatingly self-centered thoughts?

And the imagining doesn’t doesn’t help. My disgusting truth just makes me feel worse. Because I think thoughts I never imagined I would. And because it doesn’t change a damned thing.

She isn’t 8 she is 6. Forever 6. She was 6 for 106 days. I counted it out.

Why? Why did I do that?

No rational reason for it. But I had to know. It was like a itch I had to scratch.. but doing it gave me no relief.

And it doesn’t change a damn thing.

I feel so small. In such a deep hole. Hearing only the sounds of my agony. I want to call for her.. To scream her name out over and over again.

I want it not to be her. Not my daughter. A dark wish I admitted very early on in this blog. Its truer today than it was then.

Thankful too…that you aren’t me…that its not your child. And thats ok to admit.

Because if Im being honest…

Really really terribly honest…

I wish it was.

Pretty incredible how those words I wrote just over 2 years ago still emerge and break through. The way I talk to God.. So much the same now.. Just now with a deeper desperation. I longing for Him to carry me through this.. drag me if He has to..

To not let the things I think.. the nasty and the jealous and the bitter.. To not let those things overtake me.. to not let them become me. ..

To let me just sit and cry. Because I miss my daughter. A simple truth.

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11 Responses to “dirty truth”

Libby, I hurt for you. Deep in my heart. Maybe reading this will relieve some of your guilt about how you are feeling, thinking. So many of us are in dark places at Christmas, but it’s ok. It sucks, but it’s ok. Praying special grace for you and Tony to survive and, someday, to thrive again.

Hugs, love, and prayers sent for you, your family and others in your shoes. Its all I have. I pray you are able to enjoy Christmas through your littles eyes and feel peace, a moment of respite.
Following…until there is a cure.

You are living every parents worst nightmare. It’s perfectly okay to NOT be ok. Your pain is palpable. It jumps off the page and grabs anyone who is reading your blog. If I had one wish to be granted, I would use it to cure cancer….especially pediatric cancers. And I would make the cure retroactive so that your Jennifer would be 8…9…10. Still thinking of and praying for your family. Always.

The holidays are a very emotional time for some of us and worse for others. No matter what we read, what we write, and what we feel if you haven’t gone through what your going through we just don’t understand. I can tell you that while I follow other parents that have lost children to this monster disease they have the same feelings as you. Loosing a child has got to be the worse thing in the world. What your feeling and all the “whys” are normal feelings. My prayer for your family is that someday soon you can enjoy the holidays again and Jennifer’s memories will keep you smiling. Merry Christmas to you and your family!!💜💜💜

I know you must wish that it could have been someone else’s child. That is completely understandable, anyone in your shoes I’m sure would feel the same. Don’t be upset with yourself for having these thoughts, they do not make you a horrible person in any way. You hurt. Your body aches to hold your daughter again. I wish with all my being that I could take your pain away…your family doesn’t deserve this, plain and simple. So many people take their children for granted…you desperately wanted to be parents, only to have your first born taken away. You jumped so many hurdles to become parents, and Jennifer was your wonderful prize at the end of the struggle. Why not someone else’s kid? I know that thinking doesn’t change anything, but I also keep wondering “why”. I’m certain God has a plan, but it doesn’t mean you have to be happy about it…you have every right to be angry, He knows this. Sending love to you, Tony and the children, and special prayers for healing and strength during this especially horrible time of the year.

Libby, My heart breaks. I keep you in my thoughts and prayers . I can’t imagine. I can’t imagine how you do it, but you are. Your truths are safe with all of us readers and it is all okay whatever you need to think and write.

Dear God, please send peace, and some joy to Libby. Please God, help her, her husband and children.

There are times when a person loose control over his thoughts and those are such worst moments of our lives. I will pray for you & your family that you heal your wounds and learn something from this bad experience that God wants to make you understand.

Thinking of Jennifer everyday. I work in a bakery, everyday putting out gluten free products I think of Jennifer. Your words are always there: “Today 7 children died from cancer. My daughter was one of them. She gifted me her first and last breath and so many beautiful ones in between.” And “I grabbed Tony in the hallway and said to him this is the easy part you know. Because it is.. my daughter is still here” Everyday your thought of and prayed for and your own words are ensuring nobody forgets what you lost. Your heart hurts and whatever your thoughts you have been doing good. Your good and you’ve spread the glitter. Like you said you would. Don’t beat yourself down for feelings you can’t help.